The Wind Plays Tricks On Me In September

The Wind Plays Tricks On Me In September

The Wind Plays Tricks On Me In Septemberhttps://barrenmagazine.com/wp-content/uploads/2018/09/bardwell_barren_0821-18.jpg40003000Elisabeth HoranElisabeth Horanhttps://secure.gravatar.com/avatar/5c6e7a7a8a3378aed0afc839aeb069ec?s=96&d=mm&r=g09/19/201809/20/2018

Long are the rhythms of pain in the fall– Single leaves upon the wind float then flip, I assume them dead kin: a tree frog a thrush a red squirrel a monarch – my brethren I saw them die every day of June, & July, now & again maple’s fingers trick me by and by until the rain arrives in her encore to blow them asunder; to make forest litter– bitter tannins dye the Earth an end of summer ochre.

Each drive I startle–so sure I must have murdered again, yet I sigh, lighter from the knowledge: in the fall, living things take leave of me

And winter and death in our evil city; I rest until May; mummy wrapped I endure the suspended gallows; breathe deep old fashioned cemetery stones of Civil War bones—my skull is so cracked & dull & hollow.

About the Author

Elisabeth Horan is a poet mother student lover of kind people and animals, homesteading in Vermont with her tolerant partner and two young sons. She has work upcoming at formercactus, Writers Resist, The Cerurove and Mohave Heart. Her chapbook “Pensacola Girls” comes to life from Bone & Ink Press this September.